


Truth Be Told

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Flogging, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3371330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for 2.5. Set during The Return, Catherine doesn't exist and the Musketeers arrive at the village to a very different scenario.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth Be Told

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fredbassett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/gifts).



It’s not the mucking out of the stables that bothers Treville--manual labour is a normal part of growing up on a farm in Gascony--it’s the look in those eyes as the three men approach him. They don’t think any less of him for being out of favour with the king, they won’t even accept his demotion, but it’s as if they expect him to do something about it, and he hasn't the energy to fight. Or, if he’s honest, much of an inclination.

Of course he cares that Athos is missing. Do they honestly think he hasn’t noticed: that he hasn’t been out scouring Paris to discover the whereabouts of his second in command? He needs Athos to take charge. He needs him, full stop.

The truth is he’s sure Athos _is_ drunk somewhere. The others are unaware of how many times he’s helped the man crawl out of the gutter. He’s done his best to cover, but he’s tired and close to giving in himself. The bottom of the bottle is an appealing place to be right now.

“We checked his lodgings, but he vacated them a month ago,” says d’Artagnan.

Treville can see how agitated the boy is. He hopes he doesn’t carry a torch for Athos, because it’s a joyless thing to do. 

“He’s been living here at the garrison,” he says brusquely, the landlady in Rue Ferou finally having had enough of the string of rent arrears.

“We should at least check his quarters, Captain,” says Porthos, glaring at him suspiciously.

Treville gives in and leads them to Athos’ room which is sparse, devoid of anything but a large quantity of unopened mail. “Bills, I suppose,” he says with a frown as he watches them open the correspondence.

The truth is more of a surprise. The letters turn out to be from his people in the village of Pinon. In all the years he’s known Athos, Treville has never heard him talk of his estate. Even drunk and rambling, his personal life remains a mystery.

“Family matters,” he says. “We must leave him to deal with them.”

D’Artagnan blocks his exit. “Pinon is no more than a day’s ride from here,” he says and Treville wonders how he knows of its location.

It doesn’t take much to convince him. He could do with getting away from the garrison, and though he doubts that Athos will be found in Pinon, perhaps they can help out with any problems on his lands. He hates the way the nobility treat their common folk.

It’s a pleasant day to journey into the countryside. Ignoring the chatter from the other three men, Treville plans for his future. He has a small nest egg put aside for his retirement, but he was hoping to add to it for a few more years. Perhaps he’ll leave the Musketeers and live out his days as a mercenary, fighting on foreign soil.

They stop to rest at a coaching inn and sit outside, eating chunks of game pie, none of them thinking too hard about what specific meat it might contain. 

“Captain Treville,” says Porthos when the others have moved off to tend to the horses. “About my father.”

“Porthos, I have nothing to say on the matter.” He stands up abruptly. “The general left you a bequest. Be happy with it.”

“If you know anything-”

“Do you want to help Athos or not?” snaps Treville.

“Of course I do,” says Porthos.

“Then we must hurry.” Treville hates lying to the man. Eventually the truth will out and he will have to live with his shame, but for now there are more pressing issues to deal with -- ones he can use to neatly postpone the inevitable.

Back on the road to Pinon, the small party continue on in silence. Aramis who has been scouting ahead, returns with a serious look on his face. 

“There’s trouble in the village,” he says grimly. “Athos is in trouble. We must be quick”

They don’t waste time with explanations and tactics, but instead gallop at full pelt, intent on a rescue with Treville leading the way. He didn’t expect this. It is not how Athos acts. 

The peasants are cowering from their attackers, frightened even more by the arrival of an extra troop of soldiers. Athos is strung up from the lever arm of the well, slumped in a way that’s all too reminiscent of a corpse. Red welts decorate his back, the linen shirt mangled and stained, hanging from him in shreds.

With no time to spare, the fight begins immediately. The dozen or so men are not well trained and cannot keep up with Musketeers. Treville shoots, reloads, then shoots again, taking out both his targets. At this short range a pistol is deadly accurate. He wades in then with rapier and dagger, fighting his way through to Athos who is still unconscious. 

Porthos is at his side. D’Artagnan and Aramis approach from the other flank and the remaining villains are soon routed. Their leader has long since scarpered, a younger man at his heels, most likely a son following in his father’s cowardly footsteps.

“Could you do nothing to assist him?” Treville says to the villagers as he cuts Athos down, with Porthos carefully supporting him. “He is your liege lord. He came here to help.”

“We brought him here to help,” says a young woman. “He’s done nothing for us for years, and wouldn’t have done either if we hadn’t done this.”

“You kidnapped him?” says Treville in disgust. He follows Porthos, who’s carrying Athos inside the inn, laying him face down on a table.

“What choice did we have?” says an older man.

Treville ignores them and watches over Aramis as he tugs the blood soaked linen clear of Athos’ back.

“Fetch my kit,” Aramis says and Porthos hurries off. “Brandy,” he continues. “It’s better for cleaning wounds.”

The innkeeper complies and Aramis takes a swig before splashing a generous amount over Athos’ lacerated skin then tweezing out some of the material from the wounds.

Treville can’t look any longer. Athos hasn’t made a sound yet and he fears for his life. He’s never seen Aramis drink before tending to an injury. 

“The man responsible for this, who is he?” he asks.

“The Baron Renard,” says the innkeeper. “He wants these lands for his son. M le Comte refused.”

“Renard knew he was attacking a member of the nobility?” says Treville.

“He knew and didn’t care,” says the woman. “He’ll be back with more men. He intends to drive us out.”

Treville doesn't doubt this for a moment. “How is he?” he says quietly to Aramis, glancing first at the youngest member of their party before speaking. 

D’Artagnan hasn’t said a word since the battle, has done nothing but stare helplessly at his injured comrade and Treville doesn’t want him any more distressed.

“He’ll live,” says Aramis, tying off a suture, and in response to his words, Athos begins to come 'round. “Help me sit him up. I can bandage him better then.”

Treville does as requested and holds Athos, who is shivering in his arms. He needs clean clothes and a cloak. Treville strips down, removes his own shirt and then puts his doublet back on. It won’t be comfortable, but he doesn’t give a damn.

Once the wounds are dressed, Aramis helps Athos into the shirt and wraps him in d'Artagnan's cloak. “Take a sip of this,” he says, holding the brandy bottle to his lips.

Athos sucks on it as if it’s mother’s milk and Treville worries all the more. The man has been on a downward spiral for too long. They both have.

“Thank you,” says Athos as he looks around at all four men. “I didn’t expect to see you again. I’m grateful.”

He’s strong, blessed with a robust constitution, and soon he is sitting up by himself, leaning against Porthos as usual and Treville feels his absence. 

“We must go,” continues Athos.

“But what will _we_ do?” says the young woman. “Renard will be back as soon you leave.”

“It’s not my problem,” says Athos. “I want nothing to do with this place. You brought me back and I got flogged for it. What more do you want from me?”

“Protection,” says the young woman defiantly.

“I demand no taxes from you. The estate is yours to work as you wish,” says Athos. “You must learn to be self sufficient. You do not need me.”

“But this land is yours, my Lord,” says the innkeeper. “By title.”

“And it can rot for all I care,” says Athos. “I’ll hand it over to you. You may do with it as you see fit, but for that to happen you must fight for it.”

He sags and tires and Treville takes up his cause. He’s empowered by Athos’ determination to give his lands to the people. Dismissive of the nobility--his own family nothing more than gentlemen farmers struggling under a fiefdom--he’s always despised the aristocracy’s sense of entitlement, forged only from an age old signature on the charters.

“What weapons can you lay your hands on?” says d’Artagnan, coming back to life now that his mentor has revived.

“We have farming implements and knives,” says the young woman.

“And a pistol,” adds her father.

“But no powder or shot,” sighs Porthos a few minutes later as they survey the meagre stock that has been collected.

“There are both back at the house,” says Athos. “Plus a number of weapons. I will show you.”

He takes to his feet and d’Artagnan immediately goes to follow, but Treville restrains the younger man with an arm.

“I’ll go,” he says. “You help build the barricades.”

“Which will only be useful if they choose to fight,” says d’Artagnan. 

He looks disgruntled and Treville suspects that he too wishes some time alone with Athos, but today he will lose out.

“We’ll make ‘em fight,” says Porthos with gusto. He too is most likely impressed by Athos’ decision to give the land to the people. A Leveller they call them in England.

“Are you well enough for this?” says Treville as he helps Athos into the cart.

“Possibly not.” Athos smiles. “But as you have no knowledge of my house and the whereabouts of the hidden armoury it would be pointless if I weren’t accompanying you. Plus there’s also the problem that my wife attempted to burn the place down last time I was here.” He smirks at Treville and it’s comfortingly familiar. “With me inside of course.”

“Milady de Winter leaves a lot to be desired as far as a wife goes,” says Treville, climbing into the cart beside Athos and taking the reins.

The other man falls silent and Treville can see that he’s lost in the past. He regrets his flippant comment. He has no right to interfere.

“Our marriage was good for a while,” says Athos eventually. “It was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“But it was founded on a lie,” says Treville.

“It was,” says Athos, wrapping the boat cloak around him. “And I am well rid. The king is a brave man to take on that lady as his mistress.”

But it doesn’t stop him loving her, thinks Treville, and something inside him hurts to know that Athos has been pining for the woman this long.

“I mean it,” says Athos. “I’m done with her. With love.”

Treville hopes he doesn’t mean it. Athos is too young to have given up hope.

“Turn in here,” says Athos, pointing to a wide entrance to their left, overgrown by weeds. 

He’s holding himself too straight, too upright, and Treville can see that he’s in a huge amount of pain. “They won’t attack for a few hours. We’ll rest for a while when we get to the house.”

“You haven't seen it,” says Athos, sipping from a hip flask. “Though neither have I since d’Artagnan pulled me out of there.”

Treville glances at him, wanting to know more.

“It was the first time I’d seen her since I had her hanged,” says Athos. “It was a shock to be visited by a ghost. I’m not certain I would have bothered to escape the fire if the boy hadn’t dragged me out.”

“You were drunk?” says Treville.

“Of course,” smiles Athos. “When am I not?”

The conversation stalls when they see the state of the building.

Hmm,” says Athos wearily. “I hope the dry cellar is in better repair.”

They stop the cart out front and Treville hurries around to help Athos down from the bench seat. “Easy does it,” he says, supporting the man. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“We’ve had this talk already, I believe,” says Athos and though his words are light hearted, his resilience is ebbing away. 

Treville breaks down the doors and helps Athos inside. There is nothing here, but the charred remains of a former life.

“The armoury is hidden behind the sideboard,” says Athos.

“Rest up first,” says Treville, helping him to a settee and watching as he drinks from the flask. “Can you do without?” he asks.

“No.” Athos shakes his head. “Can you do without the Musketeers? I know you’re thinking about leaving us.”

The _us_ hurts. The _us_ makes Treville instantly reconsider, but he will be honest with Athos. It is his nature, apart from where Porthos is concerned. “There is no place for me here,” he says.

“Perhaps that is the case, if you choose not to fight for it,” says Athos, and he winces and shifts forward until he’s sprawled on his belly. 

He looks childlike in this spread-eagle pose and Treville tries his best to harden his heart. “You're not in any position to judge someone on running away.”

“Indeed. I’ve been brought back unwillingly to the scene of my own crimes.” Athos shifts again, trying to get comfortable.

“I have laudanum, if you need it,” says Treville.

“Not yet,” says Athos. “Though it may be necessary for the journey back to the village.”

“I tried to find you when you went missing,” says Treville, the words coming out of the blue. “I thought you were lying drunk somewhere.”

“I was,” says Athos. “That was how they kidnapped me so easily.”

“I should have known there was something amiss.” Treville feels a need to tell all. “But I was preoccupied with my future.”

“And with Porthos,” says Athos. “He’s not the only one who can see you’ve been acting strangely since de Foix’s death.”

Treville studies Athos and knows that he can trust him. He leans forward, elbows on knees, fingers steepled and begins his sorry admission of guilt.

It lasts for an eternity and by the time he’s confessed every sin, his throat is dry and his voice long gone.

Athos passes him the near empty flask of brandy. “Tell Porthos what you have told me,” he says. “He’s a good man. He will understand and forgive you.”

Thankful for this chance to free himself a little from his burden, Treville reaches for Athos’ hand and holds it tightly between both of his. “I’m eternally grateful I still have you,” he says.

“We’ll talk more when Pinon is safe,” says Athos.

His fingers are long and elegant and Treville watches them furl around his own. Maybe there is hope after all.

Athos stands, leading Treville over to the sideboard, opening a drawer and using an ancient key to unlock the mechanism which leads to a hidden chamber.

“We had to be able to raise a militia in times of crisis.” He smiles at Treville. “Much like today, I suppose.”

The armoury doubles as the family crypt, and being inside this tomb sends Athos into a new low.

“This place is no good for you,” says Treville after he has watched the man stare blindly at a casket for minutes that stretch out endlessly.

“I’ll be glad when it’s no longer mine,” admits Athos. “Maybe I’ll be able to stop drinking once I’m free of it.”

“I’ll help you,” says Treville. They’re just inches apart and, unable to stop himself, he leans in and snatches at a kiss.

It’s an unimpressive beginning to such an auspicious moment and, smiling, Athos curls his pretty fingers around the back of Treville’s neck and turns it into something much more. 

“We’ll talk later,” he says again, once the kiss is over.

Treville longs to get him to bed so that he can take care of him. “We will,” he says, his spirits lightening as he imagines so much more. “Now get out of here and let me lug these weapons back to the cart.”

Hauling on the reins, Treville draws the wagon to a halt and the two men kiss once more, before entering the barricaded village, hidden deep in the seclusion of the woodland. This is not at all how he dreamt it would be. It’s soft and sweet, with an underlying urgency that feeds his weary soul.

“Whatever the outcome today, you’ve earned both friends and respect,” he says. “Stay back, stay safe and aim true.”

“True is good,” says Athos as he reaches out to squeeze Treville’s hand.


End file.
